


Bleed to Love Her

by Melusine6619



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff, Minor Violence, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus and Susan become close at the same time his life is threatened from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted in 1999 under the pen name OldHistory. _To Dream in the City of Sorrows_ , by Kathyrn M. Drennan provided some back ground information on Marcus' life before joining the Rangers. Spoilers through Season 4, but Garibaldi is himself.
> 
> Thanks to my beta readers, SlyLurker, SharonG, and Cece.

"Why don't you like me, Susan?"

Commander Susan Ivanova gaped at Marcus Cole and couldn't think of a thing to say. The unmistakable odor of alcohol drifted toward her and she crinkled her nose slightly. Marcus swayed slightly from foot to foot, and back and forth, as if he were on a ship. She started to shove him back further into the corridor and tell him to get lost, that is, until she got a better look at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. His hair was unkempt, as if he'd run his hands through it numerous times. He didn’t look like himself at all. His sparkling humor was missing; his features were sad, robbed of all animation. She'd never seen him like this, lost, alone, beaten.

She scowled at him, fighting back the sympathy that bubbled up inside her, and she wanted to deny his question. She did like him. But he didn’t need to know that. Anyway it didn’t matter. He was apparently drunk off his ass and in need of a place to sober up. Susan’s frown deepened. Why couldn’t he pester Stephen or Garibaldi for a change instead of her? Well, what had she expected? 

Still, Susan was surprised to see him; he'd avoided her since the end of the war, and she'd missed him, missed his babbling, but she would rather walk through hot coals than admit it. Now, here he was, drunk, asking questions she had no desire to answer. So much for the quiet evening she’d planned. She grabbed his arm. "Marcus. Come in. I'll get you some coffee. You look like hell."

"I don't need coffee," he protested, his voice thick with emotion, as he followed her on shaky legs. "I need to know why you don't like me. I've tried . . . to show you . . . trading places with Lennier . . . bacon and eggs . . . that damned chart . . . no clue . . . Bugger," his hands went to his head, "damn room won't . . . stop spinning." He sat down abruptly on the sofa, dropping his head into his hands.

Susan couldn't help being concerned now. "I'll get that coffee. Black."

He opened his eyes, and his hands moved rapidly to grasp her arms and hold her motionless before him. ". . . told you, I don't need . . ." His voice was earnest.

"What *do* you need, Marcus?" she demanded sharply.

"You," he murmured, and before she could react, he pulled her down toward him and covered her lips with his.

Susan was too stunned at first to resist, and by the time the thought occurred to her the steady, sweet pressure of his lips had her wanting more, and she began to kiss him back. She was dimly aware that he was moving to lie back and pulling her with him, but even then she didn’t try to pull away. Susan went with him without a murmur of protest. Marcus’ tongue stroked seductively along her bottom, and automatically, her lips parted, and she moaned against his mouth, her whole body awakening as he tasted and teased. His hands moved underneath her shirt, caressing the soft skin with warm, intimate strokes, drawing her out of herself.

She almost screamed when his hands suddenly stilled, and he pushed her gently away, and she didn’t know if she be angry with him for kissing her or herself for responding to him. And did he know how to kiss. She tried to cover her confusion by shouting, but she could only gasp, "What the hell was that all about?"

"God, Susan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I didn't want . . . not like this." He sat up and raked his hands through his hair before resting his head in them once again. She was going to kill him; he just knew it. Why had he come here like this?

"You're sorry. Wonderful. That makes everything better!" 

He stood up slowly and waited for the room to stop spinning, and it gradually slowed to a speed he could tolerate. He faced her, his arms outstretched, palm up, a supplicant to a goddess. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go now.”  
"Then why did you?"

"Because I'm in love with you, Susan. I have been since the first time I saw you standing in the Captain's office, all spit and polish, with your hair in that ridiculously tight braid. I like it this way, loose and wild."

Self-consciously she tucked a strand behind her ear. That was the only motion she could make; she was too stunned by his confession. Well, not really. He’d hinted often enough. Now he’d gotten up the nerve to tell her outright. She watched as he slumped back down on the sofa, avoiding her gaze now. 

"And you got drunk because you think I don't like you." Her only answer was a soft snore. Susan scowled. He was asleep, and close to tipping over off the sofa. She called more loudly, "Marcus!"

He didn't awaken. His head lolled back and forth like a rag doll's as she shook him roughly by the shoulders. She called his name again, more loudly this time. Finally, she gave up and maneuvered him onto his back. She pulled off his boots, retrieved the extra blanket from her room, and covered him, trying not to notice in the process how adorable he looked.

It wasn't easy.

000

*Where the hell am I?* he thought as he opened his eyes, a difficult task because they felt glued shut. His whole body ached from the cramped position he'd slept in, and his head felt as if it might explode, or at the very least, fall off. He reached his hands up to keep it in place, then gingerly sat up. Slowly, his eyes began to focus, and the first thing that they lit on was an Earthforce officer's jacket. An uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with his hangover formed in the pit of his stomach as memory flooded back. *Oh my God.*

He'd been feeling particularly down lately because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he loved her, Susan would never want him. She might tolerate his presence, might smile at his jokes, might be pleased that he'd complimented her beauty, but that was all. She would never accept his love. Being near her was torture. Sweet, but torture nonetheless. And so he had avoided her as much as possible when they'd returned to Babylon 5. Until last night.

Last night, he'd arrived at the stupid conclusion that a bottle would alleviate his pain. He'd been wrong; it had magnified it. No matter how many shots of whiskey he downed, he couldn't blot out her face. She only grew more lovely in his alcohol-numbed brain. Finally, he'd come here and proceeded to act like a jackass. He'd probably blown what little relationship he had with her. Whatever that was. Friend? Emotional punching-bag? Dirty rug to be stepped over? It didn't matter, anyway. After last night, she probably hated him.

He didn't think he could ever face her again. He sat up, wincing a bit at the pain as he moved. Well, he’d suffered worse. Now to escape . . .

"I see that you're awake," came a painfully loud voice.

Slowly, he lifted blood-shot eyes to peer at her. He saw that she'd pulled her hair back with a barrette, but otherwise, it flowed to her shoulders in soft waves. Damn, she was beautiful. "Susan, I know that you like inflicting pain, but I thought even you'd have mercy this morning. It *is* morning, isn't it?"

"Yes." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Sleep well?"

"Not especially. No. I don't suppose you have anything for a blinding headache and a stomach that's leaping about?"

Wordlessly, she handed him a glass and two painkillers.

"Thank you," he murmured, swallowing the pills and water gratefully. "For this, and for not kicking me out."

"You're welcome." She stirred her coffee, watching him surreptitiously before taking a sip. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

"What about last night?" he asked cautiously. "Did I say or do something I shouldn't have? If I did, then I apologize."

Susan fixed her coolest gaze on him. Was he actually trying to say that he didn't remember? That he had no recall of coming here, kissing her, telling her that he loved her? She didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. She should have been ecstatic. If he didn't remember, then she could pretend that nothing had happened, either. But she wasn't relieved. She felt disappointed. Maybe even a little hurt. She wanted him to remember. *She* couldn't forget the feel of his mouth, hot and demanding, and gentle, too. Couldn't forget his hands on her skin. Damn it, what was happening to her? "No," she said finally. "You just showed up drunk and passed out on the sofa."

"I see." He almost sighed in relief. He was safe for the moment.

"Well, I've got duty this morning," she smiled, her eyes glittering brightly. "You're welcome to the coffee and anything you can find for breakfast."

And then, she moved close to him, wrapped her arms round his neck, and pulled his head down to hers. She heard his muffled gasp of surprise, felt him tense slightly, but she continued to move her lips over his. She'd meant to tease him a little, but suddenly it changed. She felt that same jolt of current that pulsed from her lips to every part of her body. She twined her fingers in his hair and pressed herself closer to him. His arms came round her, pulling her closer still. This time, she sought access to his mouth, and shuddered at the feel of his tongue, warm and wet. She felt his very apparent response against her middle, and wished that she didn't have to go on duty. Finally, she backed away, noting with satisfaction that Marcus' eyes had nearly glazed over, and his face was flushed.

"See you around," she whispered, then turned and walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Marcus glanced up from his seat at the corner table in the dimly lit bar as one of his informants slid into the seat across from him. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Someone wants to meet you, but not here,” the other man said, his voice just loud enough to be heard.

“Where?”

He told him. Another bar, in an even seedier part of Down Below, which was saying something. Marcus simply nodded. It wasn’t his job to quibble about where he met people. He nodded, and once Ben left, he slipped out of the bar and into the corridor.

His thoughts turned to last night and Susan. Why hadn’t she kicked him out? Why hadn’t she decked him when he’d kissed her? He’d have to find a way to apologize for being such an ass, that’s for sure. 

He felt it then, the sense that he was being followed. Nothing unusual, really. Lennier had an uncanny way of sneaking up on him. A little caution never hurt though. Not breaking stride, he reached into his cloak for his fighting pike. Just as his hand closed around the smooth, cold metal, something flicked through the air, burying itself in his right arm.

Marcus wrenched it out, gritting his teeth against the pain as it slipped from his bicep. A throwing knife. He tossed it to the floor and whirled, pike out and opened, waiting for his attacker. He came at him again, knives in each hand. One flew toward him and Marcus managed to deflect it, but the movement caused pain to lance through his arm and he lost control of the pike. It clattered across the floor.

He rushed at his assailant with a yell at the same time the larger man moved toward him. The sting of the blade on his right side caught Marcus by surprise, but then the man grabbed the arm he’d already injured with the knife and wrenched it backward and up. Marcus swore and raised his left hand, slamming his clenched fist toward him. The man ducked, released his hold, and Marcus breathed a quick sigh of relief only to expel it again in pain as the knife caught him in the back of his thigh. He went down, reached frantically for his pike where he had dropped it, raised his arm to protect himself from the knife as it slashed down toward him three more times.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?”

The attacker hurtled away into the darkness as footsteps sounded in the corridor behind them. Marcus tried to stand but fell again. 

000

Susan was not having a good day. Oh, it went all right, as far as running Command and Control, but her thoughts kept returning to Marcus. Even drunk, he'd been appealing to her in every way. She couldn't help wondering what might have happened if he hadn't been so out of it last night. This morning, he'd looked as if he wanted to bolt. She'd almost felt sorry for him, until he'd let her know that he didn't remember. No woman liked to be told that, especially after being told by that same man that he loved her. Had he even meant it, or had it been the alcohol? She certainly wasn't going to ask.

And now, here she was, waiting for news of him as Stephen patched him up. Knife fight, Zach had said on the report, and Susan’s heart quivered in worry as she remembered hearing it over her comm link from Garibaldi. It wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt of course. Neroon had worked him over pretty well that one time. But Susan couldn’t help but be worried, not after the shuttle accident a few weeks before. Then again, maybe it was just a mugging. He’d been in Down Below when he’d been found.

Stephen emerged from the room, interrupting her thoughts. "I've finished patching him up."

“How is he?”

"I think he’ll be fine. No vital organs were hit.” Stephen smiled at her relieved expression. "You can go in, if you like."  
She stared at the partition. To her it was more than a physical barrier. Stepping through that opening would be taking a new step, openly admitting that she cared, and she wasn't certain if she was ready for that. “No. That’s okay. I’d better not.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing,” she replied, frowning. Everything. 

Stephen tried a new tack. “If you don’t care, why are you here?”

Susan hesitated. She had no answer for that. It wasn’t her business. It was a security issue. But Marcus was . . . What? Another question she didn’t know the answer to and didn’t want to explore. So she did what came easiest. She fled. 

000

Susan was puzzled as she entered Sheridan's office two days later. He'd asked her to meet with him as soon as she was relieved from duty, but he hadn't said what it concerned. She wondered if it might have anything to do with the attack on Marcus. As if to confirm her suspicions, Garibaldi was in the  
office, speaking with Sheridan. She overheard the last few words he said to the captain. "Something about this just isn't right."

"Captain. Garibaldi." She nodded to each of them, then asked, "What isn't right?"

John and Michael exchanged glances. It was not lost on the Russian woman. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?" she asked irritably. "If it has to do with Marcus, well, he's my friend, and I'd like to know what's going on."

"Garibaldi has just been filling me in on the investigation," Sheridan told her. "Michael, why don't you tell the Commander what you've just been telling me?"

Michael stood and began to fiddle distractedly with his jacket. "At first, I thought Marcus was the victim of a mugging, pure and simple," Garibaldi began to explain. "He was attacked in Down Below, after leaving a bar. That, I can accept. He works in some pretty seedy places to get his information. But, Marcus didn't report anything stolen. He had over a hundred credits on him, his identicard, everything. His Ranger pin has to be worth something, and even that wasn't stolen. Nothing's turned up where it shouldn't be. That  
started to really bug me."

Susan waited. When he remained silent, she ventured, "Maybe whoever attacked him was scared off and didn't have time to steal anything."

"Yeah, maybe," Michael nodded.

He didn't look convinced, however, and Susan asked, impatiently, "Well, what other ideas do you have?"

"I think," the Security Chief said, "that someone attempted to kill Marcus. That it was their only intent. And they were careful enough to do it in a place where everyone would think what I did at first, that robbery was the motive."

Susan digested all this. It seemed to make sense, but . . . No, it didn't make any sense at all. Why would anyone want to kill Marcus? He went out of his way to help people, and if he banged a few heads now and then, she could understand that. Loss had a way of doing that to people.

"That leaves us with only a few clues to follow. But," Garibaldi paused for emphasis, "there is another thing. The shuttle accident a few weeks ago, the one Marcus just happened to be taking out. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but what if it isn't?"

The question hung heavy in the air as all three looked at each other, none of them wanting to acknowledge the other implication.

Susan remembered the accident clearly. Marcus had been taking a shuttle out when it had lost its navigation and life-support systems. She'd been in C&C at the time it happened, and had sent out another shuttle to grapple on and return him to the station. It had been a routine recovery, and Marcus had walked away unscathed. She recalled thinking that for someone who didn't believe in luck, he certainly had a lot of it. Suppose he had been in hyperspace when it had happened? He could have been lost forever. The thought was frightening.

Garibaldi broke the silence. "I'm off to find out more about that accident. Then I'm going to talk with Marcus again. Maybe there's something that I've overlooked."

Susan stared after him as he left. Garibaldi had to be wrong. Didn't he?

But what if he wasn't?


	3. Chapter 3

"Take a look at this," Garibaldi announced. "This log shows that the shuttle Marcus was going to use had scheduled maintenance the day before, *but* a tech said she saw someone lurking around the shuttle just before Marcus took it out. She said she tried to ask if there was a problem with the craft, but the guy acted like he didn't hear her and took off. She identified him as Joe Stratton, another tech who's only been on station for a couple of months. Does that name ring a bell?"

Marcus shook his head. It was two days later and he had recovered enough to be a pain in the butt to Stephen, who had discharged him from Med-lab. "No, not that I recall."

"Well, whoever he is, he's gone into hiding," Michael told them.

"What do you mean?" Sheridan wanted to know. "Are you saying you can't find him? Why not?"

Michael shrugged. "Remember Grey 17? Remember Stephen on walkabout? People can disappear on this station if they want to. There's also the possibility of a changeling net. It's remote, but we're looking into it. He hasn't made an attempt to leave after either incident. And I don't think he's going to.  
At least, not yet." He inserted a data crystal and punched in some information on the computer. A bank account came up on the screen. "Our friend is working for someone. Mr. Stratton received a transfer of 20,000 credits from something called," he glanced back at the screen, "Consolidated Mining. Ever heard of it? An old business rival, maybe?"

Marcus kept his eyes on Michael. "No. We were barely on our feet before the Shadow attack. I don't see how anyone could have been worried about us. And that was over three years ago."

Susan hadn't been paying attention to what Marcus said at first. She kept thinking, *20,000 lousy credits for Marcus' life?* Then she looked up. "Wait a minute," she demanded, brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'old business rival?' What do you mean *you* were barely on your feet before the attack?"

Marcus turned to look at her. "Just that. Cole Mining lost a great deal during the War."

She stared at him for several long seconds as his words sank in. Cole Mining. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh." She faced Michael again. "So what are our options? How do you plan to catch Stratton if he's gone into hiding?"

"We could flush him out," Michael answered, "but that would require you, Marcus, to be a little more visible than you usually are. There's no need to draw attention to yourself. Just let yourself be seen. He's probably watching, waiting for another chance. If this guy tries again, and my bet is that he will, we'll be ready for him."

"No, that's too dangerous," Susan objected quickly. Then realizing what she was saying, she covered, "What if innocent bystanders are hurt?" She ignored the sharp, quizzical looks from all three men, and pretended to smooth out her jacket.

"I don't see that we have much choice," Sheridan added his opinion.

Susan protested again. "We do have a choice. Michael, surely you don't have that little faith in your men, do you?"

"No," he shook his head. "But we do need bait. If this man wants to get at Marcus, I say we make it easier for him. *And,* we'll be there when he tries. It's a helluva lot better than him trying when we're not looking."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The man had tried to kill Marcus twice already, and now they wanted to give him another chance. She looked at the man she'd come to care about and silently begged him not to deliberately put his life in danger to catch Stratton. Susan’s heart thumped hard as the words sifted through her brain. She cared about Marcus. 

"Marcus?" Both men looked at the Ranger expectantly.

"I'll do it," Marcus said, rising to his feet slowly, supporting himself on crutches. "I don't like being hunted."

000

"Okay, Susan. What are you doing?"

Her reflection didn't answer, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know its opinion, anyway. She kept going over in her mind all the reasons she shouldn't even consider any kind of relationship with Marcus. He was gentle and compassionate and brave and incredibly attractive, but he was cocky and undisciplined, as well. He talked too much. He drove her crazy. And the most damming of all--he had a dangerous job, and he took too many risks with his own life. If she let herself love him, she'd go insane with worry that she'd lose him. *If* she let herself love him? It was too late for that. She already did.

She paced back and forth in front of her mirror, waiting for the other Susan to think of some way to change her mind. But deep down, she knew that she couldn't stop now, couldn't back away from him. 

_Only those whose lives are brief . . ._

"Shut up, Lorien."

000

Balanced precariously on a pair of crutches, Marcus was trying to bandage the back of his thigh when the door chime rang. He wasn't doing a very good job of it, and was feeling a bit irritable, as well. "Yes?" he snapped without turning. "Come in."

"I'm glad to see you, too," a husky, unmistakable voice answered.

"Susan!" He whirled around, his face and upper body turning the same hue as the boxers he wore. "I wasn't . . ." 'Expecting you,' he'd meant to say, but instead he grunted in agony as he lost his balance and stumbled toward her.

She caught him and held him close. His muscle tone was very nice, she noticed for the first time. He wasn't overly-brawny, but certainly not as skinny as she'd once thought. He was built for stamina. She quickly helped him regain his balance, sure that her own blush was as fiery as his from the direction  
her thoughts had taken. 

"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned that he might have pulled a stitch or two. "Why didn't you go to Medlab to have someone change your bandages? This one must be impossible for you to reach."

"I'm quite all right, thank you.” Why was she was here in his quarters, when she'd never visited him before. "And I thought Stephen and his crew had enough work on their hands."

"You could have asked me. I *am* trained in first aid," she said, more harshly than she'd intended. That idea appeared to make him uncomfortable again, so she teased, "Would it help if I took off my uniform?"

"Hardly," he muttered "But if you really wouldn't mind, I do have a bugger of a time reaching this one." He turned back around so that she could see how he'd mucked up the bandage, and so that she couldn't see the effect the image she'd conjured up had on him. *Would it help?* he mimicked dryly. A  
scantily-dressed Susan was about the last thing he needed right now. He closed his eyes and focused desperately on the least sexy things he could think of: a nursery rhyme he'd learned from his mum, a soliloquy from "Hamlet," the half-life of Quantium-40. . .

Susan, meanwhile, directed her attention to removing the gauze that covered the knife wound near the middle of his thigh. She gently eased the last bit of material away and gasped aloud. Dear God, there were so many stitches. So many neat, tiny, stitches. So many. . . She closed her eyes against the unbidden image of steel puncturing skin and muscle. Tears pricked her eyelids and bile rose in her throat, and anger, deep, burning anger, suffused her entire body that someone could do this to him for money. Her hands shaking, she carefully cleaned the area and applied anti-bacterial ointment. That done, she reached for a fresh bandage and noticed that the knuckles gripping the handles of his crutches were very white. "Am I hurting you?" she asked softly.

"No, it’s fine. Thank you. I can manage the rest well enough."

But she insisted, and Marcus was forced to meditate this time as she re- bandaged the wound on the front of his thigh. Unfortunately, it was a little higher up than the one on the back. A careless move of her hands would be his undoing. But somehow, he made it through the ordeal without embarrassing himself. Too much. "Thank you," he whispered, when Susan finally finished with the bandage on his torso. "I had no idea there were so many ways to torture someone." With that, he pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Nothing. I just . . . I don't want you to do it, Marcus," she blurted. "Let Garibaldi find him. I don't . . . I don't want to see you hurt again, or worse."

"I have to do this." 

"You *don't* have to," she choked. "Look at you. You can barely move with those things. What will you do if Stratton catches up to you? You sure as hell can't use your pike and stand on your crutches at the same time!" She stopped to calm herself. The pitch of her voice had risen, a dead give-away as to the state of her concern.

"What's gotten into you? Why are you so worried about me of a sudden?" he asked, stepping closer. "Susan?" He tilted her chin up slightly, caressing the tiny cleft with his thumb.

The intimate gesture was her undoing. "I love you, Marcus," she whispered. "It's been coming on for a while. I've tried to fight it, but I can't any more, and damn it . . ."

"You make me sound like some sort of disease," he joked, his voice gruff.

Her lips twitched as she searched for a suitable retort, but just as she found one, his mouth melded with hers. She wrapped her arms around his lean body and held him close while he brushed his lips over hers gently. He pulled back reluctantly after several seconds, planting a soft kiss on her forehead and on her hair. "Everything will be all right, Susan," he promised.

She didn't answer. She didn't want to remind him, or herself, that everything could go wrong. He believed that it would all work out. He'd promised. She was going to hold him to that.


	4. Chapter 4

An hour later, over a dinner of fried rice and hot tea, Susan finally asked, "Why didn't you tell me about Cole Mining?" The question had been bugging her for hours.

"It wasn't important," he shrugged, his cup halfway to his mouth. "And you never asked."

"Fair enough." She smiled at him. She hadn't asked about his former life because it just seemed best. The less she knew about him, she thought, the less her heart would open up. Only it had fooled her. She had fallen for the dark, mysterious man in spite of everything, and now she wanted to know who he really was. "So tell me."

He set his cup down and began telling her all about growing up on a mining colony, about being drafted during the war, about gradually taking over the company as his father's illness grew steadily worse, about his mother, about William, about everything that happened that night. "I wanted vengeance. I felt guilty, too, but it was nothing like the rage I felt. I took the insurance money, even though the report wasn't accurate, so that I could fulfill my promise, and so that I could have my revenge. Sinclair had different ideas. The Rangers, he said, weren't about vengeance, that it wasn't a hate group. Even so, I did a lot of hating, but I learned how to channel my hate and anger into becoming a Ranger. You know the rest. Sinclair chose me to help set-up a training camp on Zagros 7. And here I am."

Susan listened quietly, mesmerized by the sound of his voice and the things he told her. She was amazed at the depth of his knowledge of mining and mechanics, found herself laughing as he related some of his stories, plunged into despair for his sake as he spoke with both bitterness and fondness of his brother. She understood his reasons for becoming a Ranger now more than she had in the past. She kicked herself mentally for that comment she'd made about him not wearing Earthforce insignia when he'd first come to the station. Then, it had been an attempt to separate herself from him. After all, if they had little in common, it was easier to dismiss him.

"Your turn," he prompted, watching her closely, waiting for the shutters to fall back into place.

Jarred out of her musings, she eyed him warily, thinking of all her own demons and ghosts. They weren't things she chose to share. They were personal, and she liked to keep that part of herself locked away from everyone, even herself, most of the time. But, as quickly as she pondered remaining silent, the urge to talk filled her. This was Marcus, the man she'd come to love, even though she'd fought it every step of the way. He'd told her all his secrets, without hesitation. She couldn't do any less. "What do you want to  
know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me. What makes Susan Ivanova tick?"

"You mean you don't already know?" she countered, buying time.

"No," he shook his head. "But I'd like to know." He leaned forward slightly. This was a moment he'd waited, hoped for, for two years.

She didn't know where to begin. She began haltingly, telling him about her childhood, her mother, her relationships with her father and Ganya. "He was more than a big brother. After Mama died, he became a father to both of us." She told him about some of her other assignments, how she'd met Sheridan on  
Io, and her own recollections of Sinclair. And then, she found herself telling him about Talia. She didn't know why; it just seemed important. "It was difficult for me to care about her. I hated the Corps, and I couldn't separate her from that. And then later, I loved her, but she betrayed me. Not willingly, but it still hurt, Marcus. When you came here . . ."

"Wearing my heart on my sleeve, acting like a bloody love-struck fool . . . I didn't have a chance with you, did I?" His voice was soft, matter-of-fact, but not bitter. He'd always known she was reluctant and guarded in her personal life; he just hadn't understood why until now. She'd lost so many loved ones, just as he had. And her last love affair had been tragic. It was no wonder she'd kept him at arms' length. 

"If I hadn't been through all that, maybe," she admitted slowly. She looked away for a minute, before meeting his level, reassuring gaze. "I've never been one to jump back into anything after getting hurt. But I was attracted to you the minute I laid eyes on you. It's just that I have a difficult time letting myself trust anyone, even you. I know I was abrupt and kept you at a distance, but I had to protect myself. Now I'm afraid of losing you, but I can't stop myself from caring. *That* scares me, too."

"Susan, I lost someone, too. I wasn't in love with her, but I was quite fond of her. She died in the attack too. But I’ve realized something. Life is about chances. We can't just stand by and watch everyone else play the game."

"I know that," she whispered, "but I'm still worried for you."

"I'm not going anywhere." He reached for her hand, caressing it tenderly before lifting it to his lips.

She stifled the anxiety that bubbled up inside her. She wanted to rail at him again, beg him not to go through with Garibaldi's plan. Instead, she quipped, ”Good. Because if you do, I'll kick your ass."

He smiled broadly. "What more could a man ask for?" 

000

The first thing Susan realized upon waking was that she wasn't in her bed, wearing her favorite blue silk nightgown. The second thing she became aware of was the warm, firm, lean body spooned against hers. Marcus. She'd spent the night with him. A rather platonic night, to be sure, but still intensely intimate. She thought about everythingt, a smile playing on her lips. They'd talked for hours about everything before they'd wound up lying side by side on his bed, watching a vid of "The Scarlet Pimpernel." They must have both dozed off, she thought, her fingertips tracing the strong hand that gently cupped her breast. She sighed and snuggled closer to him. This was heaven.

Torture. That's what it was, sheer uncompromising torture. This was worse than anything the Minbari could think of, as far as Marcus was concerned. To think that, after all this time, Susan Ivanova was in his bed, and he couldn't really do anything about it without extreme discomfort. The universe, he decided, was more than unfair--it had a twisted sense of humor, as well. He gritted his teeth and tried not to groan as Susan pressed closer to him. He tried not to think about her warmth, or the fact that she was soft in all the right places. But it wasn't easy. She wriggled closer. Bugger! Didn't she know how turned on he was? He broke out into a sweat. His body raged with need, while the calming chants he'd learned mocked him. Last night, when she'd bandaged his wounds, he'd been able to control most of his body's reaction. But not now. The best way out of this was to awaken her. Carefully, he nuzzled her neck, his lips playing along the smooth column.

"Susan?"

"Mmm." She moved to her back and stared into his eyes. She pulled his head down to hers, kissing him slowly and thoroughly. She looked at him in surprise when he drew back. "What's wrong?"

*I want you, and my leg is killing me.* He sighed, searching for a reason that she might find acceptable. "I wanted to let you know it's early enough that if you want, you can slip out of here and get back to your own quarters without giving the gossip mill something to chew on."

His concern for her reputation was touching and old-fashioned. And so like him. She smiled softly, tracing his mouth with a fingertip. "Thank you. But I'm a big girl, and I'd like to stay a while longer. Unless you want to get rid of me." She hushed his protest with another warm smile. "Besides, if anyone dares to gossip, I'll space them."

"That's what I'm worried about," he laughed. "If you do that to everyone who talks about us, we'll be left to run this bloody station ourselves."

"Do you think so?" She continued to trace the corners of his mouth with her fingertips. "I guess we'd better leave a few, so we can have time for this." She leaned toward him, forcing him to lie back, while her mouth caressed his again. She felt his hands splay across her back and continued to explore, leaving a trail of moisture leading toward his neck.

"Susan, what are you doing?" he murmured against her hair.

She lifted her head and leaned up on an elbow, watching him. His face was flushed, and his breath came rapidly. "What did it feel like I was doing?"

"Driving me crazy," he ground out.

"Good." She bent her head again, casually tracing little circles on his chest. She flicked her tongue over his nipples before moving lower.

"Please stop." His mind and his body suddenly disagreed. His body ached for her touch. It strained toward her, and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

She paused. "I know you're a virgin, but no one's ever done this for you?"

"No."

Her eyes searched his, looking for what, she didn't know. "Marcus, I love you. I want to give you some pleasure. I think you'll enjoy this." Without another word, she slipped her hands into the waistband of his pants and carefully eased them down. His boxers followed. He *was* beautiful, thick and hard. She grasped his erection in one hand, licked the head teasingly, before she closed her mouth over him.

'Enjoy' was an understatement. Valen, he'd died and gone to heaven. Her mouth slid up and down his shaft, drawing on him as she moved. It felt amazing. Hot. Her mouth was warm and wet, much as he imagined she would be when he made love to her finally. His hands moved from his side to tangle in her hair, unconsciously urging her to stroke faster.

"Susan."

His strangled plea was ignored. Susan wasn’t about to stop, not now. She could feel his response, loved the way he didn’t hold back. Carefully balancing herself, she wrapped her hand around his length and stroked in the same rhythm as she sucked. He came then, hard, whispering, and Susan swallowed his come eagerly. 

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, moving back up to lie beside him.

"Yes," he gasped. "I just didn't expect, I mean, I thought you'd move, so I wouldn't come . . ." He swallowed, then turned so that he faced her. "I'd like to do that for you sometime."

"When you've healed more," she promised.

He smiled, and his voice lowered an octave. "I'm a fast healer."

Her heart began to race frantically. That did it. She wasn't going to be able to concentrate at all today.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days were nerve wracking for Susan. Marcus was determined to help Garibaldi capture Stratton. She hadn't been able to talk him out of it. She'd tried, but he'd turned the tables.

"What would you do if someone was trying to kill you?" he'd asked. "Would you just sit back and let them come to you?"

"No, I'd want to be involved," she was forced to admit. He knew she'd say that, she realized, and her irritation and worry increased. "But I'm not injured either. You are."

He refused to be angry with her. He was glad that she was concerned, but he didn't tell her so. "Susan, we've been through this before. I'm a Ranger; I'm trained to fight, even when I'm injured."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"You know me," he answered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Marcus, you are *not* reassuring me." She folded her arms and waited, eyebrows arched.

"I'll be careful," he'd promised then, enfolding her in a crushing embrace that left her breathless and comforted all at once.

She brought herself back to the present with a furious mental shake. Thinking about it more wouldn't improve her mood any. Still, she couldn't help wondering where Marcus was now.

000

Marcus hobbled through the Zocalo. The crutches were just a prop now, but he figured that Stratton would be more likely to come after him if he looked less fit. Garibaldi had agreed. The plan was, when Marcus felt he was being followed, he was to lure the person into the gardens where there were less people. A Security team was stationed at odd intervals, mingling with the crowd as they kept an eye on the Ranger.

He *was* being followed. He was certain of it. He had a sixth sense for danger, which had only failed him once in recent weeks. But this time, he was alert. He took a deep breath, then headed slowly in the direction of the gardens. Several of Garibaldi's men continued straight ahead. They would double back only if or when Stratton fell for the trap. A small team was already stationed in the garden.

The place looked deserted as Marcus entered, but he knew it wasn't. Everything was ready. All they had to do was wait for the man to make his move, then they'd take him into custody. Simple enough. He just wished Stratton would get it over with. He continued walking, at a leisurely pace, as if entranced by the lush vegetation. He paused to admire a bush laden with bright red flowers.

He felt it then. He was in his sights. He dove into the grass, just as the PPG blast shredded the bush in front of him. He rolled to his left, ignoring the pain the movement caused. He reached for his pike. Footsteps sounded. Closer.

He lunged to his knees. He tensed, pike drawn. Without any visible motion, he struck.

"Whoa!" Zack Allen jumped back two feet, his eyes wide with alarm. "It's okay. It's just me."

000

Susan jumped when her comm-link chirped. "Ivanova. Go!"

"We got Stratton," Garibaldi's voice announced. "Marcus is fine."

Her knees nearly buckled in relief. Marcus was all right. "I'm on my way."

She raced to Security, oblivious to the stares. Her one thought was to get to Marcus. She saw him at the same time he noticed her. He grinned. She tried not to smile, then walked into his arms. "Looks like I don't have to kick your ass," she murmured.

"Looks that way." He smiled again. He wanted to kiss her. But maybe she wasn't ready, or into, public displays of affection.

She surprised him then, by pulling him close and covering his lips with hers. She steadied herself, smiled, and looked into the room where Stratton was being questioned. He was a pudgy, balding man, with vapid brown eyes. He didn't look like an assassin. He didn't look like much of anything, really.

"That's probably why he was hired," Michael remarked. He'd emerged from the room in time to hear her comment. "He doesn't stand out."

"Has he talked? Who wants Marcus dead?"

Garibaldi shook his head. "No, he hasn't talked. Maybe he won't have to. I'm still tracing the owner of the company that deposited the money. It's a dummy company, so it's taking some time. I'll call you the minute I find anything."

"All right, then," Marcus nodded.

Susan added, "If you don't need us, we'll be off."

Garibaldi's eyebrows lifted in surprised amusement as the two of them walked off together. Ivanova and Marcus. Things were definitely taking a turn to the bizarre. He smiled, genuinely happy for them. But the smile faded as he turned back to the computer.

"Damn! What am I missing?"

 

000

She greeted him at the door, silently thankful that she had bought the red dress, after all. It had taken her nearly an hour to decide. It was so much more revealing than anything she usually wore in public, but the thought of driving Marcus to distraction swayed her. It had paid off. His eyes roamed from her upswept hair to the plunging neckline, to her slender waist and the curve of her hips, the shapely legs clad in matching stockings, the strappy red sandals. As his eyes met hers, he made no effort to extinguish the flame of desire that leapt and danced in them.

"Susan, you look incredible," he murmured.

"Thank you. You look nice yourself." She moved to one side, allowing him to enter, and allowing herself to admire the way his slacks clung to his thighs and rear. A billowy dove-gray shirt was tucked inside, accentuating his trim waist. He looked absolutely sexy. She tore her gaze away and grabbed a long, semi-opaque shawl, draping it about her shoulders.

"These are for you." He held out a bouquet of perfect, long-stemmed roses.

"Thank you," she whispered, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "I'll just put these in some water."

They headed for the Fresh Air some minutes later. Marcus had reserved a quiet table in a corner of the restaurant. Candle light glowed softly, adding to the aura of intimacy. Susan toyed with her food, while he eyed her over the top of his wineglass.

"You shouldn’t worry so much, you know.”

She lifted her eyes to his. "I hope you're right. I just keep getting this feeling that something's going to happen soon. I can't explain it."

"I know. I get the same feeling myself," he admitted. "But I'm not going to let it ruin the evening."

"Neither am I, then." She leaned forward. "Marcus?"

"Yes?"

"Let's get out of here."

"You mean . . .?"

She almost couldn't control her mirth. Did she have to spell it out for him? Slowly, she put her hand in his and met his questioning gaze. 

They left the restaurant hurriedly, hardly noticing anyone else, and certainly not paying attention to the man who sat quietly at a table not far from theirs. He'd just arrived from Earth, thankful that he'd made the journey without waiting for Stratton to do his job. He'd failed again, damn him. The man had been watching them for some time, and though he couldn't hear their conversation, he could tell that they were in love. Good. That would give him something to work with. A trap, yes. The woman would be perfect bait.

He signaled the waiter. "Do you know that striking couple that was sitting there?"

"Of course, sir. That's Marcus Cole and Commander Susan Ivanova."

"Thank you," the man replied, a menacing smile forming. "Thank you very much."

000

She pulled him through the doorway, but once inside, she felt strangely nervous. It would be his first time, and she could sense his anxiety as well. She gave him a quick, light kiss, then leaned slightly away from him. There was really no need to rush. "How about some coffee?"

"Sounds good." His green eyes smoldered as he watched her walk into the kitchenette and fill a pot with water. "Would you put on some music?" he heard her call.

"Um, sure." He rifled through the selection until he found a data crystal that seemed less used than the others. 

Susan nearly dropped the cups when she heard the crystal begin. She'd picked it up years ago, but had never listened to it. It seemed . . . appropriate, somehow, that their first time would be with this untried crystal of music. At least, she hoped so. She hoped it wasn't anything weird. Lost in thought, she didn't hear Marcus come up behind her.

"Care to dance?" Marcus asked, his breath brushing softly against her ear.

Thoughts of coffee evaporated as she turned in his arms and twined her hands around his neck to nestle in his thick hair. "Yes," she whispered huskily. She smiled into his eyes as his hands slid down to rest in the small of her back. She began, almost absently, to caress the muscles of his neck, before moving her hands to his shoulders to do the same. His hands played across her back in time to the soft, acoustic guitar, turning her body into liquid fire.

His voice came unexpectedly deep, "I know how he feels. I would bleed to love *you,* Susan." He kissed her then, underneath the shell of her ear, trailing his lips around to her chin, while he continued to caress her back.

"You don't have to bleed. Just love me," she told him, bringing her mouth down to his. He pulled her close, still allowing her control of the kiss, while his hands roamed busily over her back and down her sides. She trembled as he finally took the lead, slanting his lips over hers with alternately tender and hungry motions while their tongues glided together and mated.

Their feet still moving with the music, Marcus gently eased the zipper of her dress down. His hands shook slightly as they caressed the warm, bare satin that was exposed to them. Almost reluctantly, he dragged his mouth from hers to explore her throat, her shoulders. He couldn't believe this was happening; he'd fantasized about this for so long that it hardly seemed real now. But she was warm in his arms, breathing shakily, her body responding to his every touch.

Susan reached down and tugged his shirt from his pants, and with shaky fingers freed the buttons. The need to touch him consumed her. She ran her palms over his flat abdomen, tracing the scar underneath his ribcage, before using her fingers to circle the hardened male nipples. He groaned low and deep. She liked the sound of it, primitive and hungry. She slid the shirt down his arms, her hands lingering on the firmly sculpted muscles. Hers. He was all hers.

She arched toward him feverishly as he slid the straps of her dress aside and covered her right breast with his hand as he nuzzled her throat again. Just when she thought she would have to beg him, he bent his head to tease her left breast. While his tongue lapped and flicked slowly over that nipple, his nimble fingers toyed with the right, squeezing gently. She was awash in the tender, erotic sensations he gave her. She alternately caressed his strong shoulders and ran her fingers through the shiny mass of hair. His. She was all his. She whispered his name in one long breath, "Marcus."

Still swaying to the beat, they clung together as their hands roamed ever lower to caress each other's buttocks. Susan's dress was only halfway on now, and she wanted desperately to be free of the thing. Marcus eased his hands inside where the silky material still draped her hips and slid it down, gasping in delight. She was almost completely nude, her thigh-high stockings and sandals the only other garments she wore.

"You're so beautiful, Susan," he breathed. His whole body trembled as she curled her arms around his neck, once more searing his mouth with hers. She pressed against him suggestively, while he continued to caress her bare curves with ever increasing boldness. Slowly, he cupped her bottom, then slid a hand down along her left thigh, lifting her leg to curl around him. His hands moved to caress the front of her leg, the inside, and up to the silken juncture of thigh and heated velvet.

She closed her eyes, reeling with the sensations, as he gently stroked her. He was barely touching her, and she was melting. He released her leg, at the same time kneeling down and lifting his head to taste her. She swayed against him, holding onto his shoulders for support as his tongue caressed, teased, lapped, probed. Susan's whole body shuddered with the symphony of pleasure he created. Her blood sang; her heart beat a frantic rhythm. He doubled his efforts, sliding a finger into her warmth as his mouth closed over her swollen flesh and tugged gently. A deep moan tore from her throat, and then she collapsed, holding onto him for support. She moved slightly away from him, divesting him of his shoes, trousers, and briefs with deft, though still shaky, fingers. She trailed her hands up his legs, watching his face as she finally closed her hand around his shaft, stroking firmly. She was rewarded with a stream of incoherent sounds. She smiled as he pulled her down for another kiss as she straddled him, her warmth pressing against his cock.

“I may not last,” he murmured. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

"The only way I'll be disappointed," she whispered, "is if we don’t make love. I want you so much, Marcus."

He nodded in acceptance. Well, who was he to argue? Susan smiled at him as she slowly positioned his cock at her entrance and began to ease down his length. He sighed in pure bliss as her moistness enveloped him. And when she began to move, Valen, there was nothing like it. He watched her as she moved, eyes closing, mouth shaped in a little “o” as she found a rhythm that she liked. She cried out as she came, and he grasped her hips firmly, plunging into her as the heat of his own orgasm pulsed through him. 

When the room stopped spinning so rapidly, they opened their eyes again and stared at each other, gasping for breath. He trailed gentle fingers along her jaw line, while she pushed back a damp lock of his hair. He smiled and kissed her tenderly. Still unable to speak, they stood on shaky legs, supporting each other as they stumbled to the bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Susan awoke the next morning feeling warm and safe. And exhausted. Marcus, she discovered, had a fiery passion and an endless supply of energy. She smiled as she dressed for work and kissed him good-bye. She was in love with a wonderful man who loved her back with all his heart.

She still worried every now and then, but as the second day dawned, and there was no new threat, she began to relax and completely enjoy life again. She lunched with Marcus in the Zocalo, taking in the crowds. With him, it was a new and rare experience. His observations were witty, often humorous, occasionally sad. She saw things she'd never noticed before.

She met with the Captain about the docking problems. Nothing exciting, but she managed to get through it without grinning more than once.

She entered the lift back to C&C, not paying any real attention to the other passenger. She waited patiently as the lift surged into motion. The other occupant didn't get off at any of the levels; he simply stood there, waiting. As she was about to step out at her floor, he grabbed her arm. She jerked  
away, preparing to run, but he caught her in a bear-hug from behind. She stomped on his foot and jabbed her elbow back into his midriff. He loosened his hold momentarily. Then she felt a sharp crack of pain against her skull. She fought the darkness, but it was impossible to resist. 

000

"Where’s Susan?" Marcus asked striding into Sheridan's office. 

"What?" John looked at the Ranger as if he'd gone mad. "She left here twenty minutes ago to head back to C and C." Why?

"I just get this feeling that she's in danger. I can't explain it." He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands helplessly. How could he explain the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach.

John looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, then decided Marcus wasn't given to hysterics. It wouldn't hurt to check. He called up C&C. "Lieutenant, I'm looking for Commander Ivanova. Has she returned yet?"

"No, Sir," Corwin's voice answered anxiously. "No one's seen her, Sir."

"All right. Thank you Lieutenant." Still looking at his desk, he said, "She hasn't shown up, but that doesn't mean she's in trouble, Marcus. Marcus?"

He was alone in the room. Cursing, he called Garibaldi.

000

He watched her in her chloroform induced sleep. She was pretty, he had to give her that. Too bad she had to die. But Marcus Cole had to know what it was like to lose someone he cared about. Then he, too, would die. 

It was just too bad the younger man couldn’t be made to suffer more, as he had these last few years. But he would have his revenge either way. He’d hoped Stratton would finish the job. He'd certainly paid him enough--twenty up front, and thirty when the job was completed. But the man had failed. Twice. Good help was so hard to find. Well, maybe it was better this way, that he should take Cole’s life himself, he thought, pulling out a worn photograph and gently caressing the faces there until a slight movement drew his attention. Ah, his bait was waking up.

She came to and struggled to sit up. It took a considerable amount of effort because she was bound by her wrists and ankles, and she had obviously lain on the floor for a long time. Her arms were cramped and sore from being tied behind her back. Groggily focusing her eyes, she made out the decor of the room she was in, and concluded that she was still on the station. But what Section?

Slowly, she scanned the room for a sign of its occupant, and possibly, her assailant. He was nowhere in sight, so she began to struggle to loosen the bonds. They were tight, and seemed to get tighter each time she twisted her wrists and angled her fingers to tug at the ropes. Finally, she sat back, knowing that she was just going to cut off the circulation in her hands if she continued.

How long had she been here? A few hours? A day? She squirmed around on the floor, trying to fight the numbness that had settled in her body. She wished her mind could go numb instead. She couldn't stop thinking about Marcus. She tried to shove him out of her thoughts because that only made her worry about his safety. She knew that whoever had grabbed her had to be behind the attempts on his life. But most of all, she worried about what he might do when he found her. She remembered what he'd done when Delenn had been kidnapped; he would be even more angry now.

The little light that was in the room was suddenly cut off by a dark shadow. "Aah. I see that you're awake. I'm sorry, but you gave me no choice. You were making too much of a scene." He stared down at her, his eyes cold, hard, unrelenting, making a mockery of his apologetic tone.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Naguib Mandisa."

She glared at the tall, swarthy man. Mandisa. Where had she heard that name before? Marcus. The name of the woman who'd died was Hasina Mandisa. Was this her father? Whoever he was, he was in big trouble. She informed him in her iciest voice, "You won't get away with kidnapping me. They'll find me." *He'll find me,* she added silently.

"I certainly hope so," he smiled. "I especially hope that Marcus Cole will find you. There is something I wish to discuss with him. An old debt, which of course, he will pay."

"What does he need to pay for?" she demanded.

He looked at her, his expression turning almost wild with grief in the space of a half-second. "Don't you know? Didn't he tell you? He killed my baby and my wife. I have no one because of him! No one to talk to, no one to share my life with, and it's all his fault."

"Marcus wouldn't hurt anyone. He didn't kill your daughter, or your wife," Susan pointed out calmly. She was unprepared for the blow as he swung his fist into her left cheek. Her head snapped to the right, and she was momentarily dazed. With a calm she didn't feel, she turned her head deliberately back to face him, her eyes dark blue daggers.

"He killed them," Mandisa said again. "Hasina wouldn't have stayed on that forsaken colony if it wasn't for him. She was in love with him, you know. It was always 'Marcus,' or 'the boss,' every time she called. She wanted him, so she stayed there, year after year, until the accident. She was gone. And then my wife killed herself, you see. She couldn't handle the grief."

"Their deaths weren't his fault," she denied again. "He wasn't responsible. You can't blame him. There was nothing he could have done. If he could have saved anyone on the colony, he would have."

"I can blame him, and I do. He was the only one who survived." Mandisa's eyes turned cold and hard again. "And he will pay."


	7. Chapter 7

In another part of the station, Marcus Cole eyed the customers of the seedy bar with contempt and leashed fury. They were the scum of the galaxy, as far as he was concerned, but they were also some of his best sources. He sized them up, finally settling on his target. He wasn't in the mood to be polite or cautious. He wouldn't accept games or half-answers. He walked purposefully up to the biggest, brawniest, meanest-looking man of the bunch, grabbed him by the scruff of his thick neck, and calmly slammed his face into the table. The crowd hushed, and the Ranger, his hand still on his human attention-getter, said in an ominously quiet voice, "I want information, and I want it now."

In the doorway, Garibaldi watched. He waited until Marcus found out what he wanted to know, then walked up to him. "That's an interesting way to go about it," he drawled.

"Primitive, but effective." Marcus frowned, running his hand through his hair. "Did the Captain send you?"

"Yeah. He thought you might need some back-up."

Marcus shook his head slowly. "This is my fight, Mr. Garibaldi."

"I know, but she’s a friend of mine and I care about her too. Don’t worry, though. I won’t get in your way. I'm just here to clean up afterward."

He held his hand out, and Marcus clasped it firmly. "Let's go."

000  
"Are you ready?" Garibaldi asked.

"Of course." Marcus thought that was the most absurd question he'd ever heard. The love of his life was in danger. He was more than ready to move in. He withdrew his pike, but didn't extend it. He nodded.

"I know this is your fight, but don't forget we'll be here to back you up. If you need us, yell. I'd hate to explain to Ivanova why I let you get hurt."

Marcus checked one last time to see that the Chief and his men were in place. Garibaldi over-rode the door lock, and Marcus stormed inside. The room was dark, but he could see her huddled on the floor. "Susan!"

"Marcus, it's a trap!" she croaked.

The whine of a PPG sounded close to his ear, and he felt the barrel pressed against his head. He refused to waste time cursing himself for being an idiot. But he wasn't trapped either. He was very pleased that Mandisa had underestimated him. He held very still.

"Come. Join us," Mandisa mocked. "I want to see your face when I kill your woman. But you won't have to suffer as long as I have. I wish you could, but I've waited so long to find and kill you." He shoved Marcus down next to Susan. "You know of course, that I hired Stratton. Such an inept fool. It's true what they say: If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. No mistakes this time, Cole. Your ninth life is about to end."

"Do it, then." Marcus glared at Mandisa, who had pointed his PPG at Susan. He felt the bitter hatred running through the man, and he almost pitied him. But he'd taken Susan and threatened to kill her, and that was *his* mistake. His body tensed in preparation to attack. "Shoot me. Come on. Get it over with. I'm the one you want dead. She had nothing to do with anything that happened then."

Mandisa smirked, a demented caricature of a smile. "I want to see you suffer, Cole. It won't be nearly enough, but it will do."

Marcus lunged at the other man, extending his pike, catching Mandisa off guard. The pike tumbled to the floor as Marcus grabbed for the firearm. The blast hit the ceiling, and Mandisa roared in anger. The two men moved in a bizarre, twisted waltz, back and forth, and around. Neither could gain control of the weapon. Mandisa had the advantage in height and weight; Marcus was younger, more lithe, and faster. Burning hatred consumed the one; sheer determination and anger fed the other's strength.

Susan watched, her heart in her throat each time the PPG turned back on Marcus. She knew that she may as well die if Marcus did; she couldn't go on without him. And then, the weapon turned toward her. She simply stared at it, as an animal could only watch the predator about to go in for the kill.  
She didn't move, even when she saw the flash burst from the barrel. It hit mere centimeters from her.

Marcus shouted, "Bastard!" At the same time, he let go and swung one large fist into the hard jaw of his foe. The second fist made contact. "Filthy bastard!" He hurled his fists into the man again and again, and when Mandisa collapsed onto the floor, he straddled him, still punishing the man. He stopped, only to grab his collar and shake him furiously. "Why, damn you?!"

"You killed them . . . Hasina and Fatima. They're dead . . . because of you!"

"I had nothing to do with their deaths. I would never have hurt Hasina. Never. I can understand your anger, but you've threatened the woman I love. It stops now! Do you hear me?"

But Mandisa didn't answer. Marcus raised his fist.

"Marcus, stop!" Susan felt strangely close to tears. The look on Marcus' face was murderous. An awful, sickening feeling ran through her. She'd wondered what he might do. Not this. Please, not this. "Marcus," she said again, her voice softer now. "He isn't worth it. Marcus, look at me." She waited until the wild, angry look slowly melted away, and the man she knew looked back at her. "You're not like him."

Marcus turned back to Mandisa, lowering his fist. "She's right. You aren't worth it."   
He rose and went to Susan, carefully untying her, as Garibaldi and his men entered the room. Another wave of anger rushed through him when he saw the abrasions on Susan’s wrists and the tell-tale bruise on her cheek, followed by guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair as he cradled her in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine," she reassured him. As long as she was by his side, everything would be okay.

Marcus shuddered again as he thought about what he'd nearly done. He'd never been so angry in his life. "I could have killed him. I wanted to . . . for a minute."

"Shh. It's over now. It’s over.”

He tightened his grip around her. “Is it?” 

“For him, yes. For us, far from it.” She smiled at him. “Take me home.”

Marcus nodded and ushered her into the corridor, one hand cradling her elbow as they moved away. Neither one looked back. 

The End


End file.
